


Drunken mistakes

by Isa_K9



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred Being an Idiot, Cuties, M/M, USUK - Freeform, idk - Freeform, just some fluff, smol story is smol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isa_K9/pseuds/Isa_K9
Summary: Drunk messages can be quite the funny mistake.





	Drunken mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> oh, shit, here we go again  
> this was based of a... yik-yak? was that how it was called, i'm too tired to search for it now, it's almost 1am, lmao
> 
> not beta-ed

Alfred usually didn’t get overly drunk at parties, but it was his pal Gilbert’s birthday party, and they lived fairly close to each other, so if he got drunk he didn’t need to drive to get home, and he didn’t need to take care of his lightweight boyfriend (who had been coerced into going to a family dinner).

So, it was all good.

Arthur had texted him part of the night to complain about his brothers antics, going as far as to ask him to be a hero and save him from the terrible family night, but he knew that the Brit was mostly joking, even though for sure he was pissed as all hell and not in the way he wished to be.

After a few hours, and tons of drinks, he gave up sending memes to the Brit since he couldn’t quite figure out how to unlock his phone, but he knew his sentences had been getting less coherent by the minute, so Arthur must know he was completely wasted.

It was nearing 3am, and Alfred’s stomach was roaring for food despite all the alcohol sloshing inside. He would kill for some McDonald’s but didn’t think himself capable of reaching the fast food restaurant in one piece. He decided to venture back home.

Alfred waved his arms around like an idiot to say goodbye to everyone and left, stumbling through the sidewalk. What would otherwise be a 5-minute walk turned into almost half an hour journey. The American had to stop every few meters to check where he was, if he was going the right way and to pat himself to be sure that he had everything.

He completed his quest with success, and even only took 5 minutes to open the door! In his drunk eyes it had been a fast victory.

Alfred quickly, as quickly as a drunkard can be, found himself in the kitchen, searching through cupboards. He pulled out packages of cookies and chips, and then thought to himself that he would definitely need a drink and walked to the fridge.

And there it was, the answer to all of his problems, a gorgeous strawberry cheesecake.

Completely ignoring the cookies and chips, he dug into the cheesecake like a starved man, and it was only when he was halfway through it, feeling satisfied and ready for bed, that he remembered.

“Omg, Artie’s gon’ kill myself!” He said to no one, feeling guilt start to creep up on him. It was Arthur’s cheesecake, he had baked it himself, had wanted to save it for their dinner the next night.

He wobbled to the couch and laid down, not bothering with clothes or shoes. The American sighed dejected, cheesecake covered fingers tried to pick up the phone to write a message, after a few tries he finally managed to unlock his phone and write:

“ _I fucked up im so sorry_ ”

And he must have misjudged his tiredness, and comfort of the couch because before he even realized it, he thoroughly passed out, phone slipping from his hands to the floor.

* * *

There was a very annoying sound coming from his right that stopped as soon as Alfred opened bleary eyes and looked around, his head pounded, and he hissed at the sunlight streaming through the window blinds.

Once he sat up though, he had to quickly stand and run for the bathroom, barely getting to the toilet in time to empty his stomach.

“Fuck…” In his mind, he vowed to not get as drunk again, he would much rather take care of a drunk Arthur than pass through the suffer the Brit usually did.

Once he finally found it in himself to stand up, he did so with much strength and willpower.

Alfred washed his teeth and mouth thoroughly and ravaged the medicine cabinet for painkillers, instantly popping two into his mouth. He took a shower, nose wrinkling in disgust at his stinking clothes and his fingers felt oddly sticky with God knows what.

What the hell had he done last night?

After the shower, he felt slightly better, painkillers had also started taking effect. Putting on new, fresh clothes, he sat down on the couch again and searched for his phone. It was on the floor; it was pure luck that he didn’t step on it in his haste to get to the bathroom.

Alfred picked it up, and walked into the kitchen, intent on getting some breakfast/lunch to help cure his hangover. At the kitchen he cursed loudly as he saw what was on top of the table.

He had eaten his boyfriend’s cheesecake last night, oh, no, no— Arthur was going to kill him. He hurriedly cleaned up, putting the poor, soft cheesecake back in the fridge, all the while muttering excuses under his breath.

The American went back to the living room to sit down on the couch, turning on his phone, his eyes widened at the number of notifications on his screen, his jaw slack in shock.

130 messages.

46 calls.

_All from Arthur._

What the fuck had he done last night?

He opened the last message:

“ _Alfred, you better have a bloody good explanation for when I get there._ ”

Oh, no. Arthur wasn’t using any sort of emojis. That was a very bad, bad sign. Oh, God.

He didn’t even had time to read the rest of the messages before he heard keys turning and the front door opening.

Alfred turned to his British lover with his skin colour akin to a ghost’s and a terrified expression.

The Brit however, stood at the doorframe of the living room with arms crossed and a very, very pissed off expression, clearly waiting for an explanation.

Nothing was said, Alfred could almost feel cold sweat forming on his skin. Arthur stepped forward.

“Well?” He asked, patience certainly wearing thin. But Alfred really had no idea what to say, “What the bloody hell happened? Do you know how fucking concerned I was?! Alfred, say something, for fucks’ sake!”

The American meanwhile, was still trying to get his mouth to work, “Hum…” Oh, sweet Jesus, Arthur was going to break up with him and tear him to pieces for reasons unknown to him.

“What did you do, Alfred?” The Brit asked more calmly now, and that just put a twist in Alfred’s stomach. It was like the calm before the fucking biggest shitstorm. “Please tell me, I’ve barely slept last night since your message. Tell me you have a good, reasonable explanation for your message at 3am. I’ve been jumping to conclusions since then, and God forbid I’m right!”

A message at 3am? That was around the time he came back home if he remembered correctly… He had been hungry and… Oh…

He had sent a message…?

His drunken self was more of a fucking idiot than he usually was.

Connecting the dots in his brain. It was the only wrong thing he did yesterday besides drinking more than he should’ve.

Alfred smiled and then started laughing. Arthur, meanwhile, was staring at him in shock, not knowing quite what to say.

“Oh, God.” The American brushed tears from his eyes as he slowly stopped laughing, once he looked back at those green eyes he loved so much, he instantly stopped laughing.

“Care to share what’s so amusing?” The Brit said so lowly it might as well have been a growl, Alfred stood up from the couch and approached him like one would do a scared bunny.

“Oh, no, honey, it’s not what you think, please don’t cry.” Alfred said gently, wanting to hug him, but the Brit stepped back wary. The American put his hands up in surrender, “I’ll explain, come with me to the kitchen. Please.” He darted for the kitchen, hoping Arthur would follow.

The Brit would still probably kill him, but at least, he won’t, probably, break up with him.

Alfred opened the fridge and took out the rather destroyed cheesecake, putting it on the table, he scratched the back of his neck.

“Erm… I came back home last night really hungry and I was totally wasted and I just… ate part of your cheesecake… I’m sorry.” He explained; regret written all across his face.

Everything was silent for a few moments.

“You… You wrote me at 3am… “ _I fucked up, I’m sorry_ ” because you ate my cheesecake…” The Brit said in disbelief, trying to wrap his mind around the concept.

Alfred looked down guiltily, “Yeah… and then I probably passed out on the couch. I’m sorry, Artie.”

He was kind of waiting for an explosion from the Brit’s part, and an explosion he got, just not the kind he was waiting for.

Arthur was laughing, and not the graceful, gentlemanly laugh, but full on out doubling over with tears in eyes laugh. Alfred stared, his heart skipping a beat as he felt himself falling in love with the other all over again.

“You’re such a bloody idiot! Oh, Lord. I was worried all fucking night because _you ate my bloody cheesecake_ , you bastard!” And then he punched him in the arm, and honestly, Alfred kind of deserved that one.

He rubbed his arm and laughed awkwardly, did this meant that he was forgiven?

“I’m really sorry.” He said again just in case. The Brit approached him, and Alfred let himself be guided as hands cupped his cheeks and brought him down to have a pair of lips cover his.

“You’re an idiot.” He repeated as he broke away, Alfred pouted, but it didn’t last long as Arthur buried his face against his neck, hugging him, the tension in his shoulders dissolving. Alfred hugged him back happily. “And you’re going to help me bake another cheesecake.” He stated, breath tickling his skin.

Alfred kissed the crown of his head and smiled.


End file.
